


Eternity and a war

by orphan_account



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, WW I
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-10
Updated: 2012-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-11 20:59:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Absolutist AU. Mark and Wardo are soldiers in WW I. They fall in love and find out that they are not the people they imagined they were. They both make decisions and they both stick to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eternity and a war

**Author's Note:**

> The Absolutist AU...I read this book a few weeks ago and I had to think of the two of them...All credit for the Absolutist goes to John Boyne and Mark and Wardo are based upon their portrayal in the SOCIAL NETWORK. They are not mine. Still, feedback would be lovely... Anyway, I hope your day is nice.

The first time Mark sees Wardo is on the train. He stands out because he is so quiet. All around them, people are talking, excited and maybe a little bit afraid of what is laying ahead. They all dreamed of going to war, that’s why they are here, but dreaming of something and actually doing it are two very different things.  
So they are all getting to know each other, maybe judging each other a little bit, even Mark, anti-social, weird Mark, is being talked to and part of the conversation.  
He talks about where he comes from, no, he hasn’t got a girl, yes, can’t believe we’re finally doing this. It feels strange, being normal. It makes Mark, who never really cared for people’s company before, feel giddy. He doesn’t know why. He supposes it is part of the new beginning. They’re in the army now; it’s all about companionship, isn’t it?  
Well, except for the dark-haired boy at the window. He keeps staring at the landscape and is surrounded by an air of “don’t talk to me” which Mark recognises. He has been like that almost his whole life.  
Well, except for-  
Doesn’t matter, this is a new beginning. Mark smiles. Talks some more to a blonde guy called Chris with a flashing smile and eyes that are just too blue for this world. It turns out Chris is already married. For a moment, Mark is surprised. Chris is eighteen, just as Mark pretends to be (actually he’s only seventeen, but nobody checks too closely anymore, not now that they need so many more young boys overseas) but a lot of people marry young these days.  
They maybe just don’t have the time to wait and it makes Mark sick with fear for a moment when he thinks about the implications, about never coming back. It is a possibility he pushed away as far as possible.  
Next to Chris there is a guy named Dustin, a ginger whose smile is so wide it almost tears his face apart. He tells a funny story about how he once crossed City Island Bridge in New York and felt as if he had just finished the first half of his life.  
“Honestly” he said, still with that stupid grin on his face. “As soon as I thought that, there was a date in my mind. The 22th June 1932.”  
“That’s not that long to go, if you think about it” Chris remarks. “You’ll be in your late thirties by then.”  
“Don’t tell me that’s the really the date.” Mark says. He doesn’t want to think about how lucky those of them will be who reach thirty. He doesn’t want to bother with probabilities now, but it some of them will die before their twenty-fifth birthday. Probably before their twenty-first.  
As he looks at them now, Chris with his blue eyes, Dustin with his wide smile, the dark-haired guy at the window, all the other loud boys so vibrant with life, and the thought makes him sadder than the thought about even his own death. They have so much and they are about to throw it away.  
Now Dustin looks a bit sheepish. “No, actually it was somewhere in August 1932, I checked, but those dates are pretty close together, right?”  
“Still, that’s not very long to go, is it?” They are quiet for a while after that because now, now 1932 is still an eternity and a war away.

(Dustin will make it to neither of the two dates. Shortly before Christmas 1917 a grenade will rip of both of his legs and he will die hours later in the impossible dirt that is Western France with an expression of agony instead of the smile on his face. His death will be just one of thousands that Mark doesn’t regret anymore.)

The first time Mark actually talks to Wardo takes place on their first real day in training camp. Their beds stand next to each other, but that first evening, they are so exhausted that they just nod at each other and then fall asleep.  
Mark, who never had to share a room with anyone (and never had someone to share a room with), has much less problems with the noises than he expected. Nor is he bothered by the too thin blankets or the bugs that he doesn’t think too closely about. This is training camp and they are still in the States. Still, the exhaustion wipes it all away.

The next morning comes too soon. At 5 AM their instructors wake them up for medical check. They all stand up, nobody wearing more than their briefs and walk outside in the cold September air.  
Mark watches them and is surprised how normal they look. Most of them are skinny like Mark, their rips visible, then again, they are also muscled and one can see their homes in their bodies, the siblings, the hard work, but not the war, it has not yet reached the homes of the families. Some of them are even fat. It is fascinating, fat, Mark thinks. He wonders whether it will be a disadvantage for them, this symbol of their better upbringing.

Mark falls back a bit. Not so that he is last, but certainly so that there are others in front of him. He doesn’t know why, but suddenly he ends up next to the dark haired guy who now is his neighbour.  
“Hi,” the guy starts. He doesn’t whisper but he tries to be quiet. They don’t know whether they are supposed to speak. Nobody else does, but they are probably just too tired. (Not that Mark isn’t.)  
“I’m Eduardo Saverin.”  
“That doesn’t sound English.” Mark is aware that this is probably a rude thing to say and not the best way to start talking to the guy who will be his neighbour for the near future, but he can’t help to wonder. He thought there were rules against foreigners in the army.  
Eduardo smiles, but it seems forcedly.  
“It isn’t. I’m Brazilian. Well, my dad was. Obviously we’re American now. Don’t worry; I don’t sympathize with Germans or anything.”  
It is almost funny how he actually looks hurt.  
“No, no, sorry, that came out wrong.” Mark tries to apologize. “I’m Mark Zuckerberg.” Saverin smiles at that. After this brief exchange of their names they have nothing left to talk about. They wander a few minutes in silence until they arrive at a big grey building where the inspection will be held.

Inside the building it is a bit warmer than outside which is a relief. They all are lined up and are told to undress. For a second, there is a ghost of something like embarrassment in Mark’s head, a part of him that is not comfortably with standing in line with nineteen other boys naked to be looked at.  
But of course, they all undress without protest.  
There are three doctors coming along the line, telling them to cough and to stretch their arms and then keep them completely still. It all takes about fifteen minutes and leaves Mark feeling very small and vulnerable. He doesn’t think that the doctors even saw his face; all they cared for were his hands, and his body and whether he was able to go overseas.  
He catches Saverin’s glance when they are told to dress up again and for a moment, that makes it better. Saverin is actually quite a nice-looking boy. His eyes are incredibly brown, Mark notices. Then he quickly looks away.

He doesn’t walk next to Saverin on the way back, instead he is talking to another boy named Billy Olsen. Billy is eighteen and his views on the war are strange.  
“Don’t you think it is futile to fight? I mean, I’ve got no problems with any German guy who’s probably forced to fight against me until we die. Can’t we just sit down and play cards or something? I mean, why are we in Europe in the first place, we could just let them deal out their own problems?”  
It takes Mark aback for a second.  
“If you think like that, why are you even here?” He asks. Sure, there aren’t many boys of age who are staying but it’s not like there are no other options. Olsen shrugs.  
“My dad made me go. I want to go to university, become a politician. He wouldn’t pay for me if I didn’t go, said it was shame for the family. Besides, after this is over, do you really think anybody would vote for someone who objected? I mean, you see it now, nobody takes you serious if you are able to go and still at home. They won’t either, after the war. Besides, I’m not a coward. I’m not afraid of fighting or dying, I just think it’s useless.”  
“But we’re fighting for the good, for freedom.”  
“Freedom.” Billy Olsen smiled condescendingly. “It is like we are a bloody colony all over again. We didn’t fight for our independence just to come and sacrifice our lives when Britain’s calling. I think as a free country we should have felt the obligation to stay out of this. But whatever.” His smile turned a bit friendlier at that.


End file.
